Honey I'm Home
by KurlozKandySkull
Summary: Life, like love, is fleeting. Its both begins and ends with mass struggle, and while everything in between can be hard, it can be beautiful too... No matter what happens, no matter what may keep us apart, I know we'll be able to come home at the end of the day and say... Honey, I'm home. (Has POV shifts, so multiple pairings! May be a bit OOC, but it's worth it. Now on AO3 as well)
1. Chapter 1

Hello! My name, if you haven't already seen it, is Kurloz! I'm new to fanfiction net, but I assure you I am not a novice when it comes to writing. I can provide a nice plot, sweet love stories, and the most profound tragedy, if only you give me the chance. Please, it's important for anyone interested to know now, that English is not my first language! I grew up speaking Spanish, so if there are misconceptions or typos scattered about.. well, I'm sorry in advanced. I mostly (only) write Homestuck, and if you actually clicked on this story then you won't mind. Also note that many tagged pairings come later on in the story, and there will be frequent pov shifts. Please remember to review, add to favorites, and follow! Reviews, however, are the most appreciated, since It makes me so happy to see what you guys think. So sorry for my rant, now on with the show!

 **Chapter One** : **Prologue..?** _New House Smell_

People frequently sigh in content over the smell of a new car, finding it to be industrial and perfect. I, on the other hand, prefer the smell of a new house more than any other, even if it has been previously owned. I set my bags down by the door, ignoring my father's complaints as socked feet led me to the kitchen. I could see my goofy reflection in the spotless marble countertops, my nose catching a whiff of lemon scented disinfectant.

With a small 'hmph' and a satisfying knock to the solid counter, I moved along, tanned hands ghosting along stainless steel appliances. There was a sturdy looking oven fastened to the wall, tucked beneath an impressive window, which gave me a nice view of the Kelly green grass. It was late spring, and I had been homeschooled for half of the year in order to cope with the hectic moving schedule.

Despite my addiction to computer programming and sweet, sweet Nick Cage, I somehow found it within myself to complete my work diligently, if not insanely early, and was able to enjoy my summer vacation two months early. The late May afternoon looked inviting, with a large yellow sun bleaching the robin egg toned sky as it took its perch above the road, seated between two neighboring houses.

Dad startled me when he plopped a brown paper bag on the counter, keys flying off to god knows where as he reached for his favorite ingredient. Betty Crocker Cake Mix.

I wouldn't say that my dad had a cake addiction, no, he had more of a cake lifestyle, baking needless pastries for no apparent reason. Sometimes, just to escape my scrutinizing gaze or my abrupt abscond, he'd make up excuses, fake celebrations. As of late, his witty remarks have degraded to 'It's somebody's birthday somewhere, my son', and he'd crinkled that big, majestic nose of his and roll up crisp white sleeves as he put his groceries away.

This occasion was no different, and my dad politely requested that I put away the eggs, so that they can be in the best condition by the time he is ready to bake. Before I was even able to locate the plastic yellow container, the oven was already set to preheat.

Letting out a soft sigh, I rolled my cerulean eyes behind thick lensed glasses, pulling open the fridge to release a cold gust of air. Huh, how odd... I set the eggs in the middle shelf, directly above the meat crisper, and grabbed a small bottle of apple juice that had been hanging out on the door's shelf. There was a crappy drawing of an apple. IT had a bite taken out of it to resemble a smile, and black lines for eyes, legs, and arms. The drawing was shit, but it was better than anything I could do, so I found it cute.

I set it back where I had found it, an odd part of me not wanting to get rid of the random unclaimed grocery. Once the milk, bacon, and other delicious food-stuffs were set into the refrigerator, I silently snuck away from my father, collecting my bags and trekking upstairs to my bedroom. My father had already informed me as to where my room would be, stating that It had already been furnished before we had arrived, and that all it needed was some sprucing up, and some more lively décor.

I tossed my bags (two rather seedy looking duffle bags.. like the ones nick cage kept pictures of his wife and Casey in when he played the iconic role of Cameron in Con Air...) onto the nude mattress, unzipping them with a finesse that I had all but mastered over the years. The first thing I pulled out were my movie posters, and I smiled warmly at Matthew McConaughey 's soft blue eyes. Oh Matt, even your sappy romance stories make me smile..

I arranged all of my posters in a half circle on my bed, and decided to hand them randomly about my room, starting with Bill Cosby. I set him on the wall in front of my bed, so that when I woke up in the morning I'd be greeted by the ideal fatherly figure. Don't get me wrong, I loved my own dad very much, but...

Wherever my hand hit on the wall was where I would place the next poster. Finally, after several hard wall slaps, I finished by hanging my Nick Cage poster over my bed, so that he may bless my dreams with daring action and sweet one liners. I then pulled the bed away from the wall, reaching into my second duffel bag to retrieve the weird, scrunchy bed sheet thing, which took me a full thirty minutes to successfully encase my mattress in. I then set a generic white sheet on top of the bed to alleviate stress from the scrunchy one, and then decorated the whole thing with a plane white pillow and my old ghost blanket. I loved that old thing.. it smelt like home.

When the bed was all decorated, I pushed it back against the wall, nestled to the right of the door, near the window. Nick Cage stared down at me with placid approval, and I grinned back, quickly emptying various prankster accessories into my magic chest before hooking up assorted cables to my computer. There, now I could finally use the old thing... well... later, when I was done decorating.

I quickly emptied my bags of any shirts I hadn't put away earlier, stuffing them in my dresser along with all of my other clothing, taking no care in a particular order, just... shoving it all in there. I put my CDs in their stand, which stood regally beside my desk, and then made my way over to the closet, so that I could put my Colonel Sassacre's Daunting Text book away where it would be safe. I saw plenty of warm winter coats, jackets, hats, and shoes, and coincidentally there was no floor space for the book in sight. I glances up, to the unnecessarily high shelf, only to notice that there were boxes there.

I frowned, squinting to get a better look at the unfamiliar name written there.

property of dave strider, dont break this shit its fragile

Dave Strider...? I was fairly certain I didn't know anyone by that name, or surname, for that matter. I made room for my book inside of my magic chest, finding no immediate urge to discard the mystery boxes. Instead, I would pilfer through them and steal any of the sweet loot abandoned by what I assumed to be the previous house owner.

I weaseled my way in between my magic chest and the wall, pushing it until it had budged from its original spot and then dragging it with all my might to the center of the room. With my energy and will fading fast, scrawny nerd muscles crying for help, and computer becoming with a voice like silk, I nearly considered giving up. But when my eyes caught sight of the brown boxes, my interest was piqued once more, and the slight rush of endorphins and adrenaline allowed me to drag the star spangled chest to the closet, where I stood atop in so that I could remove the boxes safely.

The first one was surprisingly light, and as I passed my hand through it I felt microfibers and felt cloth, taking the form of... well I guess I'd have to see to find out. I got off of the chest so that I could place the rather dusty box on my bed, before resisting temptation long enough to retrieve the other box from the elevated shelf. The second one was larger in girth and height, and had a lot more weight as well. This one was the box that held to warning not to break this shit, and even though the owner wasn't here to scold me for any mishaps, I forced myself to be as carefully as humanly possible, taking slow and well planned steps as I transported the supposedly fragile contents to my bed.

I began with the smaller box first, blowing the dust off of the box and then covering my nose and mouth, waiting for the particles to disperse as to not trigger my asthma. Luckily, I had no adverse reactions to the dust concentration, and I peered inside.

Stuffed animals. The box was filled with an odd array of stuffed animals with round, squishy bottoms and rather phallic noses. How... charming..? I cleared the plushies out of the way, jumping slightly when a squeak emerged from a neon pink one's belly as its nose hit my wall. Underneath the stuffed animals I discovered an old Xbox 360, which kind of excited me, despite all of the bad reviews I had seen on the internet. What the hell, it's a free Xbox, even if it overheated and dyed on me, I wouldn't have paid for it to begin with. I smirked at the console, moving it onto my bed and finding chords, games, and controllers hidden beneath it. Score..!

I packed everything back into the box in a neat and orderly fashion, setting it on the ground and then pushing it under my bed, so that my father wouldn't see it for a while, therefore wouldn't ask me any questions.

There's nothing worse than playing twenty questions with a man that tries to feed you cake between each syllable.

In the second box, which I had to rip tape off of to open, was a complex turn table system, with knobs and lights and switches I didn't even believe were necessary. I blew the dust off of the two records that perched in the middle of the buttonic chaos, sneezing when it all flew up towards my watering eyes and stuffed nose. Crap.. the allergies were really starting to get to me..

I reached out a dark hand to touch the device, the forbidden object just begging to me messed with. The records felt smooth, yet grooved, beneath my fingerti-

"Hey, who the hell are you, and what do you think you're doing with my turntables?"

I turned abruptly, blood running cold in my veins, to see a blonde haired cool kid floating a mere inch from my face.


	2. Stale Applejuice

Hello...? Anybody out there?

 **Chapter Two** : **Chapter one...?** _Stale Apple Juice_

I backed up, the back of my legs hitting my mattress, making me fall down on a rather sturdy stuffed animal. This one happened to be a florescent orange.

I moved the offensive and rather lewd, if I were being completely honest here, plushie, tossing it aside as if it had scalded me. The blonde boy hovering in front of me kept a rather preserved looking poker face, yet by the twitching of his fingers I could tell he was borderline irate.

He took a step forwards, and I could see that his feet were donned with bright red socks. I peered at them closely, and had to blink multiple times when I thought I spotted the grain of the wooden floors through his foot. I was distracted by an uninterested sounding groan, the boy almost gliding over the floor, as if he weren't even touching the ground in the first place.

"What are you even doing with any of my shit? I specifically labeled my crap, dude! What are you even doing in this fucking house? The last time I checked, breaking and entering is illegal!" He shouted, although he still maintained that 'too cool to really give a crap' attitude.

I gaped at him, gaze flickering between the boy and the boxes, settling with a noncommittal shrug after pondering over appropriate answer choices.

He groaned again, a pale hand traveling to silky platinum blonde hair. A freckled nose crinkled at the bridge, and settling upon that nose was a pair of round aviator sunglasses.

"Don't tell me you guys actually bought this lame old house?" He questioned, red sleeved arms crossing over a slim chest.

His lips were pulled in tight, like he was holding back a rather nasty comment. I could see a dark eyebrow arch over his shades, and curiously enough, it did not make me question the legitimacy of his light hair color.

"Yeah, I'm afraid we did. And it's not a lame house, its huge and wonderful! I even get my own room, and it's-"

"Just like every other house in this shitty ass neighborhood?"

I frowned at the blonde boy, crossing my dark arms over my sturdier chest and eying him up and down.

He didn't even flinch.

I felt dangerously close to telling him off, or losing my temper, when I caught sight of my Bill Cosby poster through his pale face. All of my original curiosity masked over any normal human reactions (e.g "What the fuck are you doing here, I'm calling the cops"), and I jumped up, face edging daringly close to his. The boy backed up, tripping over his own feet and nearly falling over... but...

He was floating... Where the boy had lost his balance, he was now floating, feet poised precariously in the air, as his shirt lifted just barely, showing off a freckled expanse of pale, translucent skin. Flustered, the boy situated himself back on the ground, poker face cracking just slightly, yet long enough for me to see his uncertainty.

"No fricken way" I muttered, large front teeth grazing over my lower lip when I broke out into a grin.

All these years of worshipping Ghost Busters like some weirdo cultist.. and finally, finally... I get to see a real life ghost! Honestly, at this point I was a bit worried for my mental sanity. Any normal person would have driven to the hospital to get a psych check, or called the police, or at the very least called downstairs for their father, but me..?

I just stood there, gawking like an idiot. I held out my hand, ready to offer it to shake, but overestimating the difference between us. My hand passed through the boy's stomach, and he jumped, nearly backing into the wall in an attempt to get away.

"Don't do that shit man, it's totally not cool." He muttered between grit teeth, waving away my courtesies. "And don't shake hands, or whatever that is. It's so unironically uncool that I almost want to puke. The name's Dave, Dave Strider, and I'd appreciate it if you would pack up all of my treasures and place them back on the shelf where they were."

I was so taken aback by his words and cadence that I followed his orders, packing the plushies back into their box and stepping back onto my magic chest, slipping them back onto the annoying high shelf before going to retrieve the box containing the turn tables. Oh, so badly had I wanted to see what was underneath them..

I let out a little sigh, hoisting the box up with the help of my knee, stepping onto the chest in a rehearsed fashion, and using my little arm strength to push it back into its proper place. There, as if nothing had even happened in the first place. Maybe if i tossed an old sheet up there, the evidence would be gone, hidden at the very least..

Well, all evidence save for the actual boy himself. Why now, of all times, am I seeing him? Maybe he died in some horribly tragic way, like a suicide, or a murder? I turned around and stepped off of my chest, half assedly dragging the heavy rock of a thing back to its spot, sitting atop it and glancing at Dave who was hovering applesauce style over my bed.

I immediately crossed suicide off of my list of possible deaths. No, this boy seemed far too confident and sure of himself to die in such a... I presume cowardly, way. But murder...? I could see that cocky attitude easily putting Dave on somebody's bad side, but then again... he was just a child, like me. Would somebody actually be that cruel, to murder a child in his own home..?

If this even was his home... he seemed to harbor some sort of animosity towards the house, almost as if he didn't like being stuck in the place. Almost like-

"Dude, I can tell you have a question on your mind. You look constipated and it is very unappealing. Spill already."

I frowned, arching a thick eyebrow over my cerulean eyes.

"First off, my name is John. John Egbert, not 'dude', and I assure you, I am very pleasant to look at!"

Ugh, he rolled his eyes under those glasses, I could just feel it!

I continued, as if I hadn't been bothered.

"How did you-"

"Die? That's a simple one, I don't remember."

"Are you-"

"Yeah I'm sure, stop talking about it. Move onto the next question,"

Alright... so I guess that was a rough topic for him. I reminded myself to add that to my Ectobiology Notebook, and the thought of my journal made my skin crawl with excitement.

I couldn't wait to ask more questions! Like if he remembered his fa-

..Huh... What was he...? Was that my...?

I'd ask him as soon as he stopped fucking with my computer.

 **Please Comment on this story, favorite, review, follow, etc! It gets a little depressing without feedback, guys... Please, anyone there?**


	3. Co-ink-ey-dink, Huh?

I'd like to thank **ffantastic** and **D** for leaving amazing reviews! It feel great to know you guys like the story! I'd like to let you guys know in advance that I'm a bit overly imaginative, and if characters sway from their normal attitudes them I am extremely sorry! I am glad you guys enjoy the pace, and I hope you stick with me.

And... in the future, I suppose some events may seem a bit... extreme, but trust me... they are as realistic as they can get. Almost every situation in this story has been planned out and taken from past events in my life. With that in mind, on with the show.

 **Chapter three** **: Chapter two..?** _Co-ink-ey-dink, huh?_

I glanced at Dave, brow furrowed over the dark rim of my glasses as I watched him mess with my computer. A pale hand stuck its way into the screen, making the whole thing break out into static and warping colors. The device proceeded to turn on, and open the pester chum application.

I stood, quietly padding over to the mysterious boy and contemplating his mysterious ways.

Absently, I moved to set a hand on his back, only for my fingers to slip through him, immersed in a cold that made my arm throb and sent tingles down my spine. I snapped my hand back, wiping the tips of my now numb fingers against my white t shirt as Dave jumped back.

He let out a frustrated groan, wiping the back of his shirt awkwardly, as if I had wiped a sneeze on him.

"Hands off, Egderp!" He snapped, crossing his arms over his chest in that ever so stoic fashion, porcelain mask slipping back onto his face... well, in a metaphorical sort of way.

"Egderp? Really? You act so tough and cool but the best insult you can make is Egderp?" I questioned, and at this rate I was sure my eyebrow would be perpetually arched over a pair of rolling blue eyes.

The blonde haired boy sighed, crossing his legs and falling back, laying suspended in the middle of the room. I may have been wrong, but I took this as an opportunity to study him. If only my Ectobiologist lab suit was in my closet instead of hung up at the dry cleaners... Crushing disappointments aside, I laced my fingers together behind my back, feigning innocence long enough to sneak over to my ghostly acquaintance.

He didn't seem to appreciate my little act, and even went as far as to make a snarky comment about my talent in that specific skill area. I just sighed at him, for around the hundredth time in the approximate half hour since I had met him.

"Well, if half a lifetime of worshiping Ghostbusters has taught me anything, I'd bet you were a poltergeist!" I began, only to be rewarded with an exasperated sigh and a crinkled nose. "I'd even venture out and say that we'll be seeing a lot of one another now, so we might as well try to get on good terms."

I could almost see the cogs start to turn in his semi translucent head. I scoffed at the mental image, estimating that besides the gears he probably had dust and hot air... like a vast land of heat and clockwork.

"Fine.. I guess we can call a temporary truce or some shit.." He grumbled, sitting- er, I mean floating- right side up and offering his hand palm up as a sign of allegiance.

I smiled a big, buck toothed grin, moving to pass my hand through his.

Much to my disappointment, slight mirth, and great annoyance, he pulled his hand away last second, and an odd thoughtful sound escaped his pursed lips.

"Wait, one thing first, John" he began, a smirk pulling at his mouth as slight dimples creased his freckled face. "I'll only agree to this lame as hell truce if you agree to never compare me to a shitty Ghostbusters ghost again."

"But-" I opened my mouth to protest, my jaw jutting out slightly in defiance.

Dave easily stalled my interjection, waving a finger in my face and tsking at me like a disappointed mother.

"Agree to it, Ectobioloshit"

I decided to overlook the insult in exchange for the newfound trust, nodding with an obvious pout plastered to my tanned face.

"Good boy" Dave commented snidely, a chuckle bubbling up behind those words, threatening to break free from his mouth at any second.

I pretended to not be disappointed when he cleared his voice instead, biting at my lower lip and averting my gaze to the window instead. Oh, would you look at that... a perfect, supple tree branch, just outside the house, just waiting for a tire swing...

"Hey, you wanted so badly to prod at me earlier, why the sudden coyness, John..?" The blonde nearly purred, walking backwards with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his dark skinny jeans.

I felt my gaze shift to him again, and I blew air up into my nose, listening to the wind current echo in my nostrils.

"Is this your house?" I blurted suddenly, and Dave seemed taken aback, face shrouded in placid shock for a mere second before slipping back into that shit eating grin again.

"No" he replied, examining the cuticles on his left hand in mock boredom. "I wouldn't say this is my house... my bro said I was a 'growing boy' with a 'future' and I needed the space to develop this 'big brain of mine'. What a load of bull... We do nothing but fight each other and decides to get mushy on me the second he wants an upgrade? No thank you, I don't need this shitty house, our apartment was fine enough."

I didn't want to go out on a limb, but he sounded a bit bitter. I decided to press onwards anyways, like the little sneak I was.

"So, tell me about your brother. You fought?" I ended my sentence with more of an accusation in my tone than I had meant.

Dave set his hand on his knee and glared at me from behind his shades, clearly offended.

"Yeah we fought, but he didn't fucking abuse me, if that's what you're thinking. All we do is take some shitty swords up to the roof and whack each other around a bit. He always told me that I needed to get stronger. Pfft, as if! I'm the strongest guy out there, and he knows that!"

I arched my eyebrow again, finding the action rather soothing after using the expression so much in such a short period of time.

I opened my mouth to question the legitimacy of his statement, words nearly tumbling out when I was interrupted. Not by Dave, but by my father, who bellowed up from the kitchen.

"SON, WHO ARE YOU YAKKING TO UP THERE?"

I blanched, rushing to my computer to turn it on, only to remember that Dave had already done so earlier. I clicked on the chumhandle of one of my dear friends, just in case my father came up to check on me, and yelled back my reply.

"I'M TALKING WITH ROSE, DAD! SHE TOLD ME TO TELL YOU HELLO!"

I heard a hearty chuckle from the kitchen, and the sound of the electric mixer turning on. I suppose we were having cake for dinner again... oh well...

I sighed, turning around in my wheelie chair, only to spot Dave staring at me, a bit too close for comfort, with his mouth agape and his right eyebrow twitching over the lens of his shades.

"Wait, you know a Rose..? What's her last name? How old is she?!"

His voice cracked at the end of his sentence, and I saw a crack form at the corner of his perfectly crafted mask.

 **Reviews are requested and appreciated! Sorry if this seems rushed at all... It should be enough to get the point across, and well... I've got sudden... plans... involving a steamy tub and a significant other.**

 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter!**


	4. Rose Petals

**Have any of you seen the movie 'Just Like Heaven'?**

 **Chapter Four:** **Chapter Three...?** _Rose Petals_

I shot the sorry dork my best glare, although all he could see above my shades were my dark blonde eyebrows, which were angled down into a deep furrow.

He knew my sister. I could see it right there on his computer screen, flashing in yellow and pink as she replied to his message. TentacleTherapist, my overly analytical, nosey, yet precious twin sister.

"How do you know her?" I questioned, raw emotions ready to explode from my mouth, my eyes, my skin... I held them all deep inside, capping up the pressure and running a ghostly hand through my pale hair.

I played this act well, being so cool that I could be mistaken as the most premium of cucumbers.

"She's my friend, Dave, chill out for a second!"

I did not want to chill out for a second. I saw something I wanted, my darling sister, and I would not wait any longer to speak with her. It had already been so long... I've lost track of the time. I peered over John's shoulder at the screen, watching as he clicked upon Rose's chumhandle with the same level of leisure that a snail maintains, reviewing her brief inquiries before typing a reply.

EB: pviugb l;;wscu

TT: John? May I ask why you interrupted my freestyle writing session with, which made up word should I entertain... gobbledygook?

EB: oh, sorry rose

EB: my dad was wondering who i was talking too, so i sort of.. started up a conversation to cover my own ass ?

EB: i dont know, it doesnt seem like hes coming up here, so i guess it worked

There was a brief pause, and Egbert dragged the PesterChum application to the corner, leaning up close to his computer screen and...

Wait what the fuck? Was this guy seriously checking out his teeth in the reflection of a neon tinted Slimer? Is that even what the fat fuck of a ghost was even called? I wasn't entirely sure, but the sudden overload of lame in my poor, under cultured brain made my world spin. Somebody call the ambulance, I'm going into culture shock. Note the lack of exclamation for lack of enthusiasm and/or giving a shit.

PesterChum started flashing and calling John's attention like a needy whore, and he answered it's cat call greedily, dragging the window back into the center of his screen.

TT: Oh? Well, I would inquire further into your situation if I could, but I assume you are keeping that a secret as of now?

EB: wait what ?

EB: oh you mean who i was talking to ?

Egbert turned in his chair, the wheels screeching in a way that made my skin crawl. If my body was actually affected by anything I felt, both internally and externally, then the hair would have risen on the back of my neck. Blue eyes flickered to where I stood, and he glanced at me thoughtfully, a question written on his features.

I had no fucking clue what that question was, and I was too stubborn to ask. I didn't want to get school fed anything by a kid who's not even mentally mature enough to stop wearing Ghostbusters underwear. Get your head out of the gutter, people, I don't watch him change or anything gross like that, I saw his geeky collection when he unloaded his shit into my closet.

Well... fine, maybe I peeked once or twice.

The Egbert kid frowned at me, large front teeth worrying at chapped lips, dark brows furrowing momentarily before he turned back to his conversation.

EB: no, actually, i think i might want to tell you about this one

TT: Oh, how wonderful, if not unexpected. Come, sit yourself down on the couch as I retrieve a fresh pad of paper.

EB: wait, didnt mean to get your hopes up rose, but theres nothing wrong

EB: ive just got a new... friend ?

TT: Who may this new friend be, John? Is it anyone with whom I have made acquaintance?

EB: i wouldnt think so

TT: Oh? And why not?

EB: oh, well

EB: its just that hes this really awesome ghost and stuff

EB: im not sure how long hes actually been here though. what do you know about it ? youre into all of that paranormal lore and what was it

EB: zoologically dubious ?

TT: Well. John, are you absolutely sure that the entity you have viewed is or a paranormal nature?

EB: uh, yes ? i havent been watching ghostbusters for nothing, rose. i know a ghost when i see one

I tried not to wince at his shitty reference, my arms now infinitively crossed over my thin chest.

"John, what did I tell you about the shitty ghost references?" I asked, a warning lacing the undertones of my voice.

I received nothing but a muttered apology and a dismissive wave.

TT: Please describe any aspects of the subject at hand that may have alerted you to the possibility of him being a paranormal entity.

TT: You hinted in a previous message that the entity in question is male, am I wrong?

EB: no your right rose !

Egbert turned in his chair again, blue eyes trailing up and down my ghostly form.

"Take a picture, Egderp, it'll last longer" I said with fake indifference, shrugging my shoulders and holding them in their raised stance for added affect.

The raven haired boy turned back to his computer in silence, fingers skittering over the keyboard with no regards to grammar. Ah, who am I kidding, my own typing is almost as shitty as his.

EB: hes a little orange

TT: Are you implying that he is a legitimate, small scaled orange, or are you saying his pigment is the color orange.?

I could see John roll his eyes in the bit or his desktop that was showing. I wanted to pounce on him, yell at him, something! My plans were cut short when the very girl I wished to defend wrote once more.

TT: Never mind, the answer to that question was pretty obvious. I was being a bit obtuse there, wasn't I?

EB: no, its alright

EB: other than the orange thing, he pretty much looks like a normal kid

EB: and the orange isnt even that intense ! i can still tell what his regular colors would be, like his hair or his shirt and what not

TT: Oh? And what colors might those be?

EB: well hes got blonde hair for starters. id say it was pale like yours, and hes got really pale skin too. maybe thats because hes dead ? i should ask later

TT: How about his eyes? In my book I've read that the deceased do not have irises or pupils when they are stuck in the afterlife or any place between.

EB: i havent seen them, sorry

EB: hes got on these stupid triangle shades and i cant see past them

TT: Could you ask him to remove them?

Egbert turned to me, mouth open to speak. I shook my head before the stupid words could even tumble into existence.

EB: no, he downright refused me rose

TT: Wait, John, lets backtrack for a second. Did you say something about triangle glasses? Just what do they look like?

EB: well .. theyre just stupid pointy shades. they are probably from a stupid anime or something, i dont really want to ask

TT: John, please this is more important then you know. What is this ghosts name?

He almost told her. His fingers were poised over the letter keys of my name, almost really to press down what fatherly knuckles rapped on the door to the bedroom.

"Son! I've made a late lunch for you. Please come downstairs so we can eat as a family." Dad Egbert requested politely.

Family time..? I remember family time with my bro... we used to eat Macaroni and cheese out of old Elmo cups while we watched old reruns of Here Comes Honey BooBoo...

A sigh threatened to escape my lips as I watched John typed a hurried goodbye to Rose, signing out of his PesterChum and putting his computer into sleep mode.

I listened as his father's footsteps faded away, and then watched blankly as John hurried after him, opening his door up wide and yet telling me not to step outside.

I was tempted, let me tell you... but I already knew that no matter what John told me, I wouldn't be able to leave anyways. I've already tried, multiple times and in multiple ways, to leave these god forsaken room, and the closest I've ever gotten was an extended peek out of an open door.

So I waited idly, floating aimlessly around the room, passing through random electronics and furniture items, attempting desperately to hold something, make something real. Unfortunately, I could do nothing of the sort, at least not as far as I could tell. Maybe I could learn...? UGH, who was I fucking kidding? Yet again, another simple task was out of my reach.

It just wasn't fair... I'm a Strider, I know I'm supposed to be strong, and confident, and the master of all things ironic, but... it was all fake and I had to stop fooling myself at some point. I was lonely, my only new friend after countless months being a dork who I wanted to hate so badly, but found myself amused by. I found myself coming dangerously close to breaking, sad over my death without even remembering how it happened.

I probably died of something fucking stupid, for all I know. I couldn't just have a noble or badass death, no. With my shitty luck I would have died by frying myself with a hair dryer. How's that for irony?

I sighed heavily, laying down on (or hovering directly over) the floor and staring up at the plain white ceiling. I watched the fan turn round and round, one of the chords used for turning on the lights twinkling against the light bulb casings themselves as the wind rustled them. It was like a quaint fucking wind chime. If I could just close my eyes, I could smell the fresh outdoors, the beautiful tweet of a fledgling blue jay..

Tch, who even needs that shit? I've got my turn tables, my Xbox, some killer games... all of which I couldn't touch, but hey, don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Or was that even the proper phrase for this situation..? Ah, fuck it, I honestly didn't care enough to second guess the accuracy of my ironic quips.

I found my mind wandering to my phone, and its whereabouts. I had that stupid thing around here somewhere... if only I could find it, I'd be able to talk to my sister my damn self. Unfortunately, out of boredom I stashed it away in some random bit of furniture, and for the life of me (or maybe the death or me?) I could not figure out where it was.

I snickered as a sudden thought crossed through my head. Maybe, just maybe, if I played my cards right, I could convince John to find my phone.

Maybe if I told him there was a secret ghost loot, or a phantom treasure or some shit... The dweeb would probably be all over that shit, searching through every pillow, every mattress, every drawer for my fucking iPhone. It seemed kind of cute, actually, now that I actually sit down and thi-

Oh hell no, the ectobiolodouche was NOT cute, by any means. I squashed that roach before it could even skitter back into the dark, turning onto my side and pouting at the wall parallel to me.

I saw the outlet under the desk, all electronics in that area having been attached to an extension cord, therefore freeing up some space in the second outlet. I didn't want to bother myself with menial thoughts, like which electronic could occupy that outlet that would be of any god damn use in this dorky ass room. Hmph... not that it even mattered or anything, or not even that I was really thinking too hard into this shit, but... Xbox, that simple.

I considered brining the idea up with John when he returned.

All I had to do for now was wait.

And wait...

Like I haven't already been waiting for this kid for months..

Hurry up, Egbert.

 **Please leave reviews. :)**


	5. Remember To Stride

**Let's see if we can break past 3000 this time! It'll only get shorter from here... 4000 a chapter seems a bit extreme...**

 **Chapter 5:** **Chapter 4...?** _Remember to Stride_

There's nothing I hate more than falling asleep. Sure, when you're alive, you're missing out on all the cool shit you could be doing, like mixing an ill beat, watching some Mac and Cheese microwave in your favorite Sesame Street receptacle, or even developing a sweet secret language with your brother consisting of nothing but beat boxing sounds and strained whoops. But when you're living, you have your spirit to escape to. Your dreams, in a way, are protective little bubbles.

While you are still living, you create new memories in these bubbles, most of them verging on fantastical and totally sick in an ironic sense. For instance, back when I was a small, innocent little shit, I used to have these crazy dreams where I was a crow, and I would just perch there in the heat of the downtown city streets and watch myself bumble around and solve puzzles. It was weird, I'll admit, but at least I experienced something new every time I went to sleep.

Now...?

I gripped the hilt of my shitty swords, the fake leather peeling where it wrapped tightly around frail metal. I wiped some sweat from my brow, pushing my bangs away from my moist forehead with a bleeding hand. My brow knelt down close to the floor, legs parted in his usual battle stance, a hand suspended in the air, beckoning, taunting. I saw his left leg buckle, a flaw in his planning that was barely noticeable, but that made all the difference in the world.

His battle style was unique, yet so very annoying. It was hit or miss, and around ninety percent of the time he hit me dead on, my small, battered body skidding against the concrete roof. But in these moments, when he aggravated an old injury and showed me his weakness, I was able to use his own hits against him.

Bro lunged at me, his own shitty sword angled and pointed for my chest. When he put his weight on his good knee, I twisted to the side, ducking below his arm and swiftly kicking out the injured one. He stumbled, but before he could flash step away I grabbed his ankle, pulling it back so that he would fall flat on his face. I kicked his weapon away from him, and sat down on his back, the flat of my blade pressing against his pale, smooth neck.

"Gotcha Bro! Now you've got to let me play Marth in Smash Bros for the next week and a half!"

My brother growled, but I could sense the playful tone in his voice.

"Fine, lil' man, didn't want that frilly little princess anyways."

"Come on, Bro, we both know he has the best combos."

"He's got that killer ass too."

"You better believe it!"

Bro pushed himself up to his knees in a sudden, brisk manner, and I grabbed onto him the way a Koala clutches the native foliage during a nap. I fisted a bloody hand against his black tank top, my legs circling around his waist as he shakily stood.

"Aw shit, lil' man... I didn't cut your hand too bad, did I? You've got comics to write this summer!"

This summer... oh, I remember this...

You see, if I'd just get back the point, when you're dead nothing new happens in your dreams. Your subconscious is pretty much what you actually are, so you don't have your spirit to fall back on in your dreams. You just relive old memories as if they are happening anew, well that is, until you realize you're asleep, and you wake up.

My brother slipped out of my vision as he turned his head, smooth freckled face broken with a stupid little grin and topaz irises barely visible at this angle, despite his protective shades.

Its moments like this, when I wake up falling, that I wish I had said I loved him more often.

He had raised me to be strong, to shield my emotions, but to protect me from what? He had never told me why he was so guarded, and sometimes it worried me.

As I woke up to find myself sprawled on John's floor, I took some time to just... remember.

I remember those nights... the times when all of that stoic behavior got to my brother, and he'd sit down on the kitchen floor when he thought I was asleep, and... well, he'd cry.

It was totally odd, to see him shedding tears not for the sake of irony, but because he remembered something horrible.

I'd ask him what was wrong, but he'd just wipe away his tears as if they were shameful, and shake his head at me.

It was those times when he really seemed to turn back the clock. All of the stress would be written on his face but it would only make him look younger, more vulnerable, more scared.

"Dirk..." I'd begin, but I never had the courage to actually tell him I loved him.

He'd just look up at me, with those dark bags contrasting against his melanin deficient skin, and he'd beckon me closer. I'd oblige, and he'd hug me, gently shaking and shuddering against my smaller frame.

As much as it helped, seeing my brother break down like a normal human being, those moments scared me. My bro was hurting, and I couldn't do anything to stop the ache.

I sighed, standing a mere inch from the ground and hovering over to John's door. I pressed a ghostly ear to the white wood and tried to hear past the barrier, but couldn't. I slumped down to the ground again, and let my thoughts drift.

The most information I ever got out of my brother was when he was sick with the flu, bundled up in a Rainbow Dash bathrobe, orange boxer briefs, and old Dora the Explorer bed sheets. We had old reruns of Keeping Up With the Kardashians on, and despite the enthralling melodrama Dirk seemed to do nothing but drift off.

Being the little shit I was, I pestered him.

"Why are you so sad, Bro?" Okay.. so maybe it was less of a pester and more of a direct question.

Sometimes, despite historical evidence to support otherwise, irony was not the right way to go about things.

"M'not sad, Davey..." He murmured, and I recognized his flaw.

He only called me Davey when one of us was about to cry. I sat next to his head on the couch, fluffing his pillow like an underpaid maid.

"Dude, don't lie to me. Feelings jam. Now. Spill it."

And he just went and told me. He didn't say everything, but he said enough to kick dirt right on my feelsancreas. (What, you don't know what that is? The feelsancreas, just to clarify before you get lost, is the small, imaginary organ behind your heart, more towards the spine than any specific lung. When something saddening happens, the organ spasms, and those who are overly cynical or passive unfortunately have to have theirs removed.)

He started off by recapping what he had admitted on my twelfth birthday. I, despite what he had told me, was neither his biological brother nor his child in any way shape or form. My mother was really his best friend Roxy, and my twin sister was really Rose, my best, but rather droning, friend. He then went on to tell me new, yet not really significant information.

Supposedly, Rose and I were born extremely late. Roxy's belly was swollen and she had multiple contractions, yet at the nine month mark she did not have her babies. Bro told me that he had gotten nervous, since Roxy's friend had gotten pregnant around the same time, and her babies had already been born. Well, they had been premature, but were stable and would grow up healthily.

An unnatural amount of time went by, and the doctors got nervous. Just before they were about to suggest emergency surgery, Roxy gave birth just before Christmas. Rose had been healthy as can be, but despite my extra time in the womb.. I... guess I was still underdeveloped. Bro told me that he wanted me to be strong, so that I'd never be as frail as I had been for the first few months of my life, stuck in the intensive care unit until I developed enough to even be fed my mother's milk.

I asked him why I had been given to him, and Bro coughed a wheezy little cough, resting hand over his light sensitive eyes.

"Roxy never stayed with the man who got her pregnant, and he said he wanted nothing to do with the kids. She had always wanted a little girl, and when I showed so much excitement about the potential Rose, she said she'd give me the second kid if you were twins. Nobody believed it would happen, but when it did.. Roxy was confident I'd be a good guardian.. she wasn't really ready for one child, let alone two."

"And why do you cry at night in the kitchen?"

Bro didn't answer me, so I pulled his hand away from his tangerine eyes, taking off my own shades to show him I was serious. I narrowed my crimson eyes and frowned, dark blonde eyebrows furrowing above my features.

"Why do we barely say I love you? Why can't we ever cry without being ashamed? Why do you go working at the club every Saturday but never once bring back a special somebody? I know your hours, and you never seem to spend any extra time out. What'd the deal, Dirk?"

There was a long, drawn out sigh. There always was, with Dirk. Even when he was willingly giving information, there was always this hesitance.. not as if he didn't trust me, but almost as if he was afraid he'd be weak if he admitted what was troubling him.

"It's been sixteen years since it ended, and it still feels like I'm cheating..." Was all he said.

I had tried to press on for more information, I really had, but he just shook his head, adjusting his ensemble of ironic comfort-wear and raising the volume on the television to drown out my voice.

There was nothing I really wanted to remember, aside from that... I'd gladly go into the details of my own death, just to pass the god damn time, but I couldn't even remember past the sound of my window being shattered.

So I passed the time by doing exactly what I and been doing before I had fallen asleep, rolling just above the ground and waiting. OHHH, how I hated waiting... I wasn't an entitled guy by any means, but sitting around and waiting when there was shit to do, people to mess with... it got a bit tedious. Moments like these, when you really have nothing other than your own damn self to keep company, I really feel like Time's little bitch. I'm a precious knight of time, following his maiden whilst donning a full suit of bright red armor. It's sweltering under all these layers... but I've got nothing to do but serve, and all the fucking time to do it.

"EGGGGGBEEEEERRRRT! MY DARLING HEIR, SAVE ME FROM THIS TOWER AND SHOWER ME IN RICHES. IM A GOLDEN HEADED PRINCESS, JUST WAITING TO BE RESCUED AD PROMPTLY RAVISHED ON THE NEAREST QUEST BED!" I moaned out, voice not yearning but desperate for freedom.

Sort of like... the blessed love child of an Eagle and Whitney Houston. But orange.

The door slammed open near the end of my thought process, and I didn't even have time to prevent myself from jumping up.

"Shit dude, what the fuck? Chill out Egderp, your face gets any redder and it'll be an overripe tomato."

Egbert looked ticked off. His derpy looking teeth bit down roughly on his lower lip, and his brow was furrowed deeply over angry blue eyes. His glasses were askew and his face was flushed and sweaty, almost as if he had darted from the other side of the house the second he heard me yelling.

"Dave what the FUCK?! You're lucky my dad was enthralled with our Ghostbusters movie marathon, or else he would have heard you yelling like a banshee up in here!" he nearly spat.

Ohhh, so John's got some bark to him... I couldn't help but wonder if he'd bite.

"There's no way he would have heard me. Thus far, it seems like you're the only ass that can see, hear, or communicate me. Congrats Egderp, you're really something else."

"You're just a stupid pile of Ghost shit!"

"Ectobiolo-twit"

"Orange peel!"

"Special Snowflake"

His nose crinkled up at that one, the anger leaving his face in exchange for a confused stupor and mild amusement.

"Special Snowflake? Really?"

I covered the little smile on my face with my hand, pretending to wipe under my freckled nose.

"Hey, don't do that. When people see a smile it makes them feel more... I dunno, real. Try to open up a bit. We won't get anywhere if you stay stone cold forever."

I dropped my guard, my crimson stare softening behind my shades. I want to drop my hand down to my side, only for John to preemptively reach out and...

He moved my hand.

When his fingers came into contact with my flesh, they didn't pass through this time. The skin where his thumb pressed into heated up, almost like I was on fire, and the orange began to melt away, revealing pale alabaster skin beneath. I twitched the muscles in my arm and pulled away, nearly hissing at John.

He just stared at me with wide, blue eyes.

"What was that?! Dave did I just touch you?!"

He reached out to try and do it again, but this time I was on the defensive. I stiffened every muscle in my body, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end when his swiped his dark hand at my arm.

This time it passed right through, and when I shuddered at the heat flash, John shivered at the sudden cold chill.

"Dave, c'mon, loosen up a bit. What if you-" John began, eye alight with curiosity and adventure.

"No, John. That felt wrong in so many ways, just... don't try that shit again..." I nearly spat, eyes narrowed behind my glasses as I gingerly poked at the raw flesh of my wrist.

The skin there had abruptly turned orange, yet it was much more translucent then it had been before. I almost looked... .real.. in that spot...

I shut myself down before I could let any childish emotions flood over me. I was cool, I was unbothered, I was the epitome of irony. I did not, by any means, need to be getting excited over something so.. so stupid!

"Jesus man, I feel like I need to take my rape shower now... Hey, stop laughing! That's not funny, man.. It felt wrong on so many levels!"

The little jerk was laughing! He had the gall to laugh at the one and only, the brave, the dashing, Dave Strider.

"You should have seen the look on your face!" He wheezed out, clutching his belly (which I noticed had an ever so slight amount of pudge on it), and squeezing his eyes shut behind his glasses. "You looked like I had wiped my jizz on your shoulder!"

I pulled a face, my brow furrowed and my nose scrunched up and wrinkled. My mouth was agape, my minuscule smile lines aggravated with mild disgust.

"There it is! That's the face! Oh, gracious, I wish I could take a picture of that face!"

I crossed my arms over my chest, nose upturned and eyebrows risen in a haughty fashion at his blundering antics.

"You done yet, Egderp?" I asked smoothly, my features evening out as I pretended to examine my nails.

I was really staring at John out of the corner of my eye, but he couldn't see that, since my shades were protectively mirrored on the outside. All he would see would be his own stupid little face.

I snickered at the thought, desperately attempting to transform it into a cough at the last second.

"Let me study you" John proposed suddenly, and when I looked up at him I found him a mere two inches from my face.

I let out a peeved little noise, backing up slightly before answering with as much sarcasm as possible.

"Hmm... sure! I'm totally going to let the teenager with the Slimer underpants probe me for answers!"

"How do you know about that?!"

"Cause you totally didn't just sprawl out your delicates on my bed when you moved your nerdy ass in here."

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit there is, Dave."

"At least I still have more wit than you, Egderp!"

"You use the same name every time! Think of something different, Carrot Cake!"

"Shove a sock in it, Nutter butter!"

"Danny Phantom!"

"Zoosmell Pooplord!"

"Insufferable prick!"

Oh GOOOD I hated these stupid back and forths! I put an end to this idiocy and groaned angrily, right up in John's face. John groaned back, and soon we were having a contest to see who could shout the loudest without Dad Egbert kicking down the door out of sheer worry. Yeah... lets just say I totally lost my cool on that one. Totally out of character for me, I know.. but something about this kid infuriated me... It took me totally out of my comfort zone, in a majorly unironic way. The more I screamed at him... The more my voice rose.. The more I actually wanted to be his friend.

Sounds dumb, I know, but when I stomped my feet around and shrieked like an injured crow, he gave me this dumb little look... a stupid little smirk that reminded me of myself.

And.. I just wanted to make myself happy.

"Truce! Truce, alright! I'm done, lay me down and study my smooth, adolescent orange body all you want, I really, really, could not care less about your unironic obsession with dead things."

What? So what, I like dead things too! I wasn't gunna... try to bond with him over it or anything...

 **So... there ya go! Reviews, please!**


	6. His Accent Was A Cockney One

**Hello! So sorry about the all caps yelling in the last chapter.. there's a bit of a story about that, and let's just say it wasn't me who put that in there. I'd like to include some more about these little real life moments, but... comment and tell me what you guys think. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and thank you so much for your comments and support! Also, should next chapter be in John or Dave's POV? I've got something planned either way, but I live for feedback.**

 **Chapter 6:** **Chapter 5...?** _His Accent Was as Cockney as His Eyes Were Green_

His hands were soft... softer than anything I could remember, or anything I had forgotten. I looked down at our hands, which were interlaced at our fingers. I held my breath, forgetting for a moment that I had no real need to. Colors danced on ivory skin, cream tones fighting for dominance over mellowed orange hues.

John's skin was dark and hot against mine, and I bit roughly on my inner cheek, brow furrowed.

After our truce, John had paced around wordlessly, before dismissing himself and rejoining his father for the rest of their Ghostbusters binge. I waited patiently, for that was all I really could do anymore. At around eleven he rejoined me, and when he opened the door I could see that all of the hallway lights were off. His father had probably gone off to bed, or to the study.

We had both sat down on his bed, him slumped against the headboard and me lightly hovering above his ghost sheets. The silence had gotten comfortable, and I found myself staring, fiery crimson eyes trailing over his form behind the security of my shades. He moved after a while, and I caught the motion instantly, sitting up just a little bit straighter.

"I want to try something with you, if you wouldn't mind.." He said quietly, blue eyes large and barely illuminated by his desk lamp.

It was almost like watching those ASMR videos on YouTube.. his hands gently dragged against the sheets, the sound loud in the otherwise silent room. I was absolutely mesmerized, and nodded without really thinking it through.

Those hand had reached out to mine, we touched, and that's where we are now.

I felt myself lower down, my ass pressing against his sheets and my face chilled by the slight wind of his ceiling fan. I could feel it... I could feel everything as if I was actually there. I had a gravity and a presence that I had only been able to experience in dreams!

I got excited, and felt my heart skip a beat in my chest, face flushing happily with warmth. I smiled at John, before I could even stop myself, and let go of his hand to hug him.

And just like that, it was all gone. The ringing of my shuddering heart died out in my ears, and my skin turned from clammy to frozen. Alabaster hues turned white, then blue, and then orange again, as my weight sent me sinking through John's bed onto the floor below.

How wonderful, I could slip through a bed just fine but when it came to leaving this god damn room I was trapped.

I spent a moment hidden in his bed, my head spinning uncomfortably as my hopes dashed away, kicking up dust and making my mind cloudy.

"Dave... Dave you felt so real.." He whispered, probably not meaning for me to actually hear.

I swallowed, pushing myself up and then floating back up to John, just my head and shoulders exposed above his sheets.

"Dave, I could feel a pulse in your hands and everything! Your cheeks were all red and your skin wasn't even orange! And..."

I steeled my expression, making it a blank canvas in which to paint on false security. Until I was done building up the walls that Egbert had knocked over like he was playing Jenga, I would use denial. Just deny and deny and deny anything he was saying. I've had enough false hope in my life, I didn't want him ruining any facade I decide to uphold.

"John, don't fool yourself. You're just trying to fuel your own ghost obsessed mind, and I'm not gunna have it. I don't know what you are trying to imply, but I'm a GHOST, John. I can't feel, I can't be warm, I can't have a heartbeat, and I shouldn't be... be..."

"Melting back into life like a water color portrait?"

"Sure, whatever the hell that means. Stop trying to make me part of some weird theory or science project. I may not be real but I'm a person too, you ass." I didn't mean it when I called him an ass, and I think he saw through my mask as well.

"It happened Dave, whether you want to face the facts or not. What if... there's something more? Then you being dead, I mean. Rose used to go on and on about this sort of stuff. She told me that sometimes, when the body undergoes a lot of physical or emotional distress, then the spirit can lag behind. How did you die, Dave? Did you even really die at all?"

I shot up, eyes narrowed behind my shades as I closed the small gap between me and John. I jut out a finger towards his face, almost as if to make a point.

"Don't you dare bring my sister into this! She's been through enough as it is. I know it may seem like she's fascinated by death and the unironicly dubious 'demons around us', but she's had enough death in these past few months to last her a lifetime, and I don't need you bringing up and sore subjects with her!"

I knew Rose was strong, but there was something inside me that wanted nothing more than to protect her. She'd probably hit me upside the head with a leather bound book if she found out, though.

John looked at me with an odd expression, face scrunched up not out of fear or regret, but out of confusion.

"What's with the face, John? Oh, sorry, forgot to mention that her cat Jaspers died." I said slowly, eyebrow arched high above the brim of my shades.

"Wait, Dave.. Rose is your sister?!"

My raised hand dropped down to my side, the other lifting itself to my forehead with a loud smack. I had wanted to forgo telling John this information for a reason. I was such a dumbass sometimes, not even ironically either.

"Uh, yeah? Does it matter?"

John nodded, his glasses shifting and becoming cockeyed upon his snub little nose.

"Yes it matters, Dave! How do I not know you, me and Rose are like... best internet chums!"

I sighed, and John hopped off of his bead, scurrying to his computer and pulling out his chair so he could sit down. The monitor turned on from its sleep mode, and he instantly opened up the PesterChum application. I scratched at the back of my head uselessly, stalling myself a moment or two before I got up to join him, hovering behind his chair and looming over his shoulder.

EctoBiologist began to pester TentacleTherapist at 11:35, but she did not end up responding, despite her online status.

EB: rose

EB: rose

EB: oh my gosh rose you wouldn't believe what i just found out

EB: err... i mean, who i just met

EB: its your brother

EB: do you know a dave strider? ive been talking with him all day, even if he is a bit infuriating and hard to read

I lightly huffed, a small noise of disapproval escaping lips that were thinned into a tight frown. John didn't make any moves to delete or even edit the rude statement, and he wouldn't have even gotten the chance, since his father knocked on the door a mere second or two after the ravenette hit the enter key.

"John, may I come in?" He asked politely, voice bubbling with fatherly undertones, and laced with a slight accent that I couldn't quite place at the moment.

John went to speak, but when he opened his mouth his voice cracked so badly that I could barely suppress my laughter. My bespectacled peer cleared his throat and tried again, simultaneously speaking and turning off his monitor.

"Uh, sure dad..! Wait a second though..." John glanced around the room, eyes settling on me for a moment before he sighed, lifting himself out of his chair and plopping down on his bed. "You can come in now!"

The door opened, and a tired yet friendly looking face appeared from the hall. A dark hand reached out to fondle the wall, flicking on the room's main lights and illuminating both himself and John. He didn't even glance at me, so I knew he couldn't see me. John's dad walked in and closed the door behind him with careful hands before making his way to his son.

He sat on the edge of the bed, facing towards me in silence, but focused on his son. A silence drifted between them, so thick with possibility that I could almost reach out and grab it, if I had been able to see it. Finally, after a little sigh, John's dad spoke.

"John... I just wanted to say thank you, for joining your old man today for a good classic. I do fancy movies, I really, really do." He trailed off thoughtfully, running a hand through his onyx hair.

I was actually surprised to see him without his hat on. Usually, since he was always donning his trusty white fedora, I wouldn't even bother to look him over on the off chance that he'd step inside. But now..? John's dad looked a bit.. different than I had expected him to appear. His hair wasn't cut particularly short, although it was trimmed neatly in the back, and it had a messy quality similar to that of John's. His skin was dark, too, just like John, but.. his eyes were different. While John's eyes were a bright sky blue, his fathers were the closest thing to emerald I had ever seen.

They were entrancing.. almost as if I had seen them before.. My heart wanted to say that he had been at my apartment once, but I quickly dismissed the idea.

"Well... that's it son, give your old Dad a hug and then I'll adventure over to my room for the night."

John looked bashful, embarrassed almost. It was probably because I was here, and this realization brought an evil little smirk to my face.

I watched the two embrace lovingly, and John's dad left the room with a little wave, his green robe swishing behind him as he left the room. As he left I could have sworn I heard him complain about missing glasses, but I pushed aside the thought so that I could smirk at my dear, dear friend.

"So. That's quite a father you've got there, Johnny boy.."

"Shut up, Dave!"

His dark skin was flushed red, and I clutched my stomach with the force of my laugh.

"What accent even was that? Your dad from England or some shit?"

John could manage to do nothing more than sputter like a fish out of water, and I leered at him, floating around him as my chuckles died down to a comfortable silence.

At least when he was embarrassed he couldn't bother me about ghostly shit.

"Dave, I have half a mind to call my dad back in here. He used to know Ms. Lalonde extremely well, and I bet you he'd drive right over if I told him her precious son was dead."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Bite me."

 **Soooo so sorry for the suckiness of this chapter.. I just got started with rehabilitation, and my back's killing me... I'd go on, but I don't know if you guys care about my personal problems. They actually tie in with the story extremely well, so if you guys are curious then leave a comment saying so...? I'm so needy, sorry... :o)**


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